wanting to connect (even if we're across the world)
by onecupoftae
Summary: Jungkook is supposed to be on an airplane to Korea. Jungkook is currently holding onto Jimin, whispering sweet things in his ears like a best friend that he doesn't fucking deserve and just for a second, Jimin forgets all about Taehyung on the other side of the world. (Jungkook and Taehyung are online friends planning to meet up, but then real life gets in the way.) — taekook.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO STOP MYSELF FROM BECOMING BTS TRASH. i love these boys so much oh god

first bts fic and this is different from any other fandom I've written for so I hope it's not complete crap. jungkook and jimin are from canada and not america because I live in canada and it's easier for me to write so you'll have to bear with all the maple syrup jokes that are sure to come later on

also I'm not at all familiar with korean dialect stuff, not even the basics, so the most I'll use is probably just hyung and that's it. I am not korean, forgive me

bold is texting, btw

* * *

wanting to connect (even if we're across the world)

Chapter 1

* * *

 **Taehyung: it's tOMORROW**

 **Taehyung: can u believe it**

 **Jungkook: tae shut up it's like midnight for me**

 **Taehyung: toMORROW anjpdiskw**

 **Jungkook: I'm going to cancel my flight**

 **Taehyung: no no ur not allowed to do that just let me be excited damnit**

.

 _Daegu, South Korea_

Kim Taehyung hasn't been this excited in _ages_.

He doesn't think that his body is physically capable of containing all the energy bouncing inside him at the moment. All seventeen years of his life, Taehyung has been stuck in the city of Daegu without once leaving the country; never even gone on vacation to China or Japan, both of which are neighbouring countries that he could probably take a road trip to—if he could drive. And if the car could cross the ocean. But those are just small _details_.

 _("You're basically just having a sleepover. It's the same as a fucking sleepover, Taehyung, now let me rest_ , _" Yoongi had said one night when Taehyung not-so-politely invaded his bedroom, bouncing on the mattress as he ranted to an uninterested Yoongi about his online friend's visit._

 _He had replied with,_ _"But I've never meet Jungkook in person before and he's from_ Canada _." As if that justified everything.)_

Maybe he shouldn't be as excited as he is. It's not like _he's_ going anywhere special. He'll still be stuck in Daegu, but at least he'll be stuck in Daegu with Jungkook—well, Jungkook _and_ Yoongi, but he needs to ask Yoongi for a ride to the airport to pick up Jungkook, so he can't really complain about that right now.

"Hyung—"

"Don't 'hyung' me," Yoongi cuts him off as he lazily gets up and glances at the clock, sighing but unable to stay irritated when he sees the pure excitement on his friend's face. He grabs his car keys from the counter and waves it for the younger boy to see. "I already know what you're going to say. Just get in the car."

"Really—?" Taehyung brightens up, following Yoongi out the door. A surprising turn of events, since between the two of them, Yoongi never leads them anywhere and Taehyung usually has to pester him for a good twenty minutes just to get the older boy to stand up. "How did you know?"

Yoongi looks back at him with an expression that says, _are you kidding me?_ "You've been going on and on nonstop about your online friend or whatever for the last fucking week, so I figured you'd ask me to drive you to the airport sooner or later." The car engine hums to life as Yoongi mutters, "I can't wait until you're old enough to get your own license and drive yourself to wherever the hell you want."

Taehyung smiles his signature boxy grin and latches onto the older boy, completely uninvited. Once upon a time, Yoongi would have shoved him off in annoyance, but now he only grunts, more or less allowing Taehyung to hug him. "I didn't think you were actually listening to everything I said, hyung."

"So how's this going to work?" Yoongi asks, backing out of the driveway. "Where's your friend going to stay once he gets here? Has he booked a hotel or—" It takes one glance at Taehyung's face in the rearview mirror, guilty expression in place, for him to connect the dots.

"Don't look at me like that, yah," the younger boy feigns hurt when he makes eye contact with the daggers shooting out of Yoongi's dark brown orbs. "Keep your eyes on the road! I'm too _young_ to die by something as mundane as a car crash."

"I should just run you over," Yoongi says flatly, and Taehyung is _still_ grinning, the brat. "No wonder you were acting so nice to me last week—"

"—it was out of the _goodness_ in my heart—"

"So when the fuck were you going to tell me that you were planning to have your friend stay over at our place? For the _whole month_?Since, you know, _I'm your roommate._ "

"I was going to tell you," Taehyung defends, shrugging and stifling back laughter when the older boy gives him another look, "eventually."

"Right."

"I do it all out of love, hyung."

Yoongi doesn't reply to that, though Taehyung is pretty sure that the silence is Yoongi's way of saying _fuck you_ ; he just reaches over to turn on the radio, humming to whatever song is playing, and tries not to get _too_ excited about meeting his online friend in less than half an hour.

.

 _British Columbia, Canada_

Park Jimin sits alone in his bedroom, burning in his long-sleeved shirt under the harsh rays of the sun, blasting music at the highest volume his pathetic excuse of a cellphone can go because he knows that once it hits five o'clock, he'll have to turn the music off and let the silence engulf him again.

It's a crap phone, fucking useless black piece of shit, but it helps him get through the bad days and so he's actually kind of grateful for it, really. He twirls the device in his hand and thinks about how reluctant he was about buying it at first. He's poor, a high school student on summer vacation with no job, no source of income, and there's no goddamn way his parents would ever pay for anything Jimin wants. He doesn't _deserve_ a phone, they'd say, and he really doesn't because he didn't even end up buying it with his own money.

It was more of a gift than anything.

He remembers sneaking out at around noon last Tuesday—though it was more like mumbling a _I'll be right back_ to his parents and walking out the door completely unacknowledged—right after the school year had officially ended, to go to Walmart because Walmart is _cheap_ and Jimin _still_ can't afford the products there.

On the way, he meets up with his best friend, Jungkook, a doe-eyed, black-haired _angel_ , who helps him pick out the best phone model at the most affordable price.

 _("Okay, yeah, that's a pretty good deal, but I only have like five dollars so I don't know how you're expecting me to pay for that," Jimin boldly announces his less than appealing financial situation._

 _He receives a smirk in return. "I'm_ not _expecting you to pay for it, hyung.")_

And then Jungkook proceeds to buy the phone for him. The asshole.

Jungkook tells him that it's not _actually_ a present because Jimin can pay him back later, whenever, but they both know that Jimin is piss poor and Jungkook is too nice to hold a grudge against him.

Jimin feels like a freeloader. A freeloader with a best friend who's going to be on the other side of the world tomorrow, which is the whole reason he went through all the trouble of getting a cellphone in the first place. A one-function phone just for Jungkook.

He knows all about Taehyung, a crazy, orange-haired, Korean kid, whom Jungkook met online and hasn't been able to shut up about for the past year. The younger boy dragged Jimin into a Skype call with him once and the three of them immediately got along (despite some of Taehyung's admittedly eccentric behaviours).

So this summer, Jungkook is going to visit Taehyung for a whole _month_ and although they can contact each other now, it won't be the same as being able to meet up in person. Jimin doesn't know how he's going to _survive_ that long without his best friend.

He's probably going to suffocate in his house because wearing long-sleeved clothing isn't exactly ideal for the summer, all things considered. Either that, or his parents will kill him.

Jimin breathes. Just breathes and tries not to listen to the sound of his parents' car pulling up in the driveway; tries not to think about his inevitable doom that takes the form of two adults dressed in formal business wear.

Swears that he'll leave this hellhole behind the minute he turns eighteen.

There are voices outside. He recognizes two as his parents' mixed in with a few of others and he presses his ears against his pillow to muffle out the noise. It's _sickening_ how sweet his parents sound when talking to neighbours and coworkers—how _fake_ they act to keep up their image of hardworking employees and caring family members. How everyone is blind to the ingenuity of it all as long as they hear what they want to hear.

And then.

And then—

"Jimin, come down!" His name called in the shrill voice of his mother. He doesn't want to go down because going down means leaving the security of his room where he is _vulnerable_ and a seventeen-year-old _target_ and no, please, _just leave me alone._

" _Park Jimin!"_ his father this time, and Jimin flinches, knows that he has delayed for too long. He wonders who it is downstairs with his parents; how can they not hear the threatening tone in their voices? Are they even _listening_ , don't they now what using his full name _means_ , how can they be so _deaf_ to the implications behind those words?

The boy drags himself out of bed and creaks open his bedroom door, letting out a shaky breath as he forces his feet to bring him to the front door. The people with his parents is another family of three, with a daughter younger than him, probably in elementary school. He smiles a little, because it's what he's supposed to do, what his parents would want him to do, and his mouth says, "Hello."

His eyes say, _Save me._

He feels a rough hand on his shoulder, a gesture that no doubt looks fond to outsiders, but he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from wincing when his father's nails dig into his flesh, squeezing, _squeezing._

"Jimin, these are our new neighbours from a few houses down the street," the sickening sweet voice is back and the boy feels trapped because freedom is right beyond the door and there is a hand gripping tightly on his shoulder, keeping him in place. "They came to introduce themselves."

He nods, nods and blinks back tears because it's the only thing he can trust himself to do; tries to stifle the scream that's building up in his throat.

The little girl is looking up at him curiously and he wants to tell her to run, _fucking run_ , but he doesn't need to because just like that, they're leaving. Jimin feels his whole body relax, _breathe_ , and it's not so suffocating anymore, but then the girl turns around one last time and she's _beaming_ at him, oh god, _why aren't they gone yet?_

"Mister, aren't you hot wearing a long-sleeved shirt?" She asks, innocently, so innocent. And yes, he's hot, burning even, so just leave and close the door, _please_ —

"Um, y-yeah, a little bit." He's still smiling. Wants to cry.

"You should change!" The girl twirls happily, arms spread out around her. "Summers are made for T-shirts and dresses!"

Jimin nods, polite, always polite. Just breathes and fights the urge to bolt out the door. "You're right, thank you." _But will you still want to see me with a T-shirt on? Will you still be innocent when you see the bruises, the cuts, the scars—_

He hates this little girl, he realizes then. Hates how her mother hugs her and ushers her away, genuine and real, so full of _love_ and she doesn't even _appreciate_ what she has; hates how his own parents act exactly like that, but it's all pretense and make-believe, narrowed eyes and rough fingers and harsh voices hidden skillfully underneath practiced smiles.

It's instant, the change. And Jimin regrets it immediately, regrets wanting their new neighbours—the kind mother and innocent daughter—to leave because now he's stuck. _Trapped._

Once the door shuts, his parents turn to him, happy expressions dropping within the time it takes Jimin to blink. _This_ is who they really are, _this_ is what no one else is able to see, and he contemplates the idea, plays around with it in his head and wishes, _prays_ : if others knew, would they still hire his parents as employees? Would they still be their friends? Would they help him, take him away from the fucking miserable reality that has become Jimin's life?

Maybe. Perhaps. But not now, no, they haven't been exposed yet. And Jimin is too weak, too _scared_ , to risk making the situation worse.

There are always two sides, two possible outcomes. The good and the bad. Pros and cons.

He doesn't like to think about the alternative.

" _Jimin."_ The boy feels himself being yanked to the living room by strong, merciless hands. He stumbles on the wooden floor and barely has time to orientate himself before he feels the familiar— _too_ familiar—sensation of a slap to the cheek by his father's hand. It _stings_ , oh god, it stings so fucking much; bites his tongue to keep himself from whimpering. There's no visible bruise on his skin but it still feels raw from all the previous times he's been hit in the same place and now it's like rubbing salt on the wound; feels it throbbing, no doubt a red mark on his cheek.

His mother walks over to the TV and turns on the volume to the highest setting. Jimin knows this routine, knows that the loud volume isn't because of her poor hearing, but rather a clever strategy to cover up the screams that are sure to come. To cover up Jimin's screams as his own parents abuse him in the name of discipline.

Jimin already feels as if he can't fucking _breathe_.

"Didn't we tell you to answer us right away when we call you?" His father is borderline screaming now. His mother sits on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, not giving a shit. " _Huh?_ We discussed this before, _many_ times. Do you hear me, Park Jimin? Does that poor excuse of a brain inside your head even understand anything I'm saying?"

Another slap and the black-haired boy feels his heart thumping wildly against his chest. "I—" he mutters dumbly, mouth suddenly dry. Tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm listening. I'm s-sorry."

"Then why didn't you _fucking_ come downstairs when we called you the first time?" The anger in his father's eyes is _terrifying_ and Jimin doesn't know if it's always been there or if his father picked it up sometime between the screams and acts of violence, but there's suddenly a belt in his hands and it's a thin piece of leather and Jimin _knows_ what comes next.

He's terrified.

Cowering on the floor like a scared mouse.

"Do you think your mother and I have to waste our breath _twice_ on you just to get you to meet the neighbours?" He flicks his wrist back, then sharply forward, and the belt snaps against Jimin's flesh. All Jimin feels is fire and pain and—it _hurts_. "Do you think you're so _important_ that you can fucking _ignore_ us? Are you trying to destroy our _image_?"

He cries out when the whipping gets faster, harsher, and why does everything always have to be their goddamn image?

Jimin doesn't think he can survive.

They're going to _kill_ him.

He glances over to where his mother is, a plea for help in his eyes, but the minute his eyes meet hers, his heart drops. She's smiling at him, _smirking_ at her the sight of her son being tortured right in front of her, and his guts twist up uncomfortably inside of him when he realizes that she's _enjoying_ this.

She's getting pleasure out of watching his suffering.

More whips and Jimin's ears are ringing. Every part of him burns. There are small cuts scattered all over his body. The leather strikes his arms, legs, stomach, chest, and _fuck, fuck, it hurts so much, make it stop, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—_

He's a sobbing mess and he's going to _die._

His father freezes mid-swing and Jimin takes the opportunity to breathe; a small part of him knows that something must be wrong for the man to stop his abuse before he's satisfied, but Jimin only registers the break as a _miracle_.

And then he hears ringing in the distance, muffled under the background sounds of the television, almost mistaking it for the buzzing in his own ears. The telephone. His father sets down the belt, quickly gestures to his mother to mute the volume, and composes himself before walking over to the kitchen to answer the call.

No matter how many times Jimin witnesses it, he doesn't think he'll ever stop being amazed at how his parents switch so _easily_ from the idealistic parental image to cruel, brutal monsters and vice versa—it's fucking _sickening_.

His father is speaking normally with the person on the other side of the conversation and the pleasant echoes of his laughter sound so wrong to the seventeen-year-old. As if he wasn't beating up his own son just moments ago.

Jimin looks back as his mother but she's already redirected her attention to something else now that he is no longer being hit, no longer a source of her entertainment. Slowly, quietly, he gets up and walks past the kitchen where his father is to the front door, ignoring how weak his legs are, how light-headed he feels. The stinging sensation only gets worse as he turns the doorknob through the blurred vision of his tears, but he presses on, needs to get the _hell_ out of there.

He's pretty sure his parents are fully aware that he's leaving. He's also pretty sure that they don't give a shit.

Doesn't know if the physical pain hurts more or the knowledge of the fact that his own parents just don't _care_ about him at all.

 _(Because what's the point of chasing after him? Why waste the energy? They know that he'll come back, eventually, on his own._

 _And he will. He'll go back soon enough._

 _Jimin is_ weak _.)_

The air outside is wonderfully refreshing. He inhales deeply, breath still shaky from the sobs ripping out of his throat; it's a moment of freedom before the realization that he has nowhere to go sinks in, the thought following a stream of oxygen into his mouth, weaving through his body before finally settling heavily in his heart.

It's usually not this bad. Although the beatings have gotten more frequent lately, Jimin can hold himself together for the most part, until his father's anger subsides. But there's just been so much happening recently—first, Jungkook leaving to Korea, then the little girl who was so carefree and _loved_ —and he just fucking lost it.

Hates how, even after all this time, he's still so affected by his parents' actions. How he's such a _crybaby_ at the age of seventeen.

But there are still good people in this world, in Jimin's otherwise shitty life, so he stops running blindly down the street, turns on his one-function phone, and messages a cry for help to the only person he trusts.

.

 _British Columbia, Canada_

Jungkook thinks that he's going to lose it if he hears another fucking vibration come from his phone.

After those texts from Taehyung last night, he had turned off his phone in attempt to get a peaceful night's rest. It had worked, but Taehyung had not stopped his relentless pestering, because when Jungkook wakes up in the morning, there is another set of notifications on his screen.

 **Taehyung: ohmygod ohmygod omg omg**

 **Taehyung: it's today jungkookie I'm going to see u in a few hours!**

 **Taehyung: I'm picking u up at the local airport right?**

 **Taehyung: Nvm actually I'll ask a friend to drive or smth cuz I'm not old enough but same thing**

 **Taehyung: WE HAVE A WHOLE MONTH TOGETHERRR**

Jungkook discreetly wonders if the thirteen hour time difference between them means anything at all to his online friend.

He throws in a couple of his favourite T-shirts and shorts into his suitcase—yes, it's only a few hours before he has to leave for the airport and no, he _isn't_ done packing because procrastination is a _bitch_ , so sue him—and tries to ignore the constant buzzing of his phone that is no doubt caused by Taehyung's messages.

Deep down, though, Jungkook knows that he doesn't _actually_ mind the frequent texts, annoying as they may be, because he's too fond of Taehyung to get seriously upset at him. And, well, he's going to _Korea_ ; a whole ocean away on the other side of the world. He can't deny that he isn't extremely excited too, even if he doesn't voice his feelings as obnoxiously as his friend does.

One more pair of pants is tossed into the ever growing pile of messy clothes, along with another shirt, this time long-sleeved because after living in Canada for so long, he has learned never to fully rely on the weather forecast. It could be sunny, twenty degrees in the morning and by the afternoon, there would be a thin layer of snow on the ground.

This is why Jungkook has trust issues, honestly.

He grabs a handful of socks, throws them all inside a small bag, adds in his over worn grey beanie, and decides that he's done with the clothes. This should be enough, probably. And then he moves on to packing his electronics.

The sixteen-year-old fumbles around his closet, looking for the camera that he made sure to charge to full battery the night before; there are so many places in Korea he wants to visit, like all the main tourist attractions—the Donghwasa temple, Gyeongsan-gamyeong Park, literally anywhere. The very first picture he wants to take, however, will be reserved for a snapshot of him and Taehyung, to capture the moment when they meet each other, finally in person and not through pixels on a screen.

A full month in Korea. He can't _wait_.

His phone vibrates again and Jungkook sighs. Jesus Christ. _Fine,_ he thinks, might as well at least look at the texts because he won't have signal once he boards the airplane, anyway. What he actually sees on the screen when he finally decides to pick up the device and reply back to Taehyung's pestering, though, is not what he expects at all.

For one, the messages aren't even from Taehyung.

 **Jimin: hey jungkook I**

 **Jimin: r u busy**

 **Jimin: I mean I know ur getting ready for korea**

 **Jimin: and we had planned to meet up later but**

 **Jimin: can I come over rn?**

 **Jimin: please**

 **Jimin: I just**

 **Jimin: actually I'm already outside ur house**

 **Jimin: I just need somewhere to stay for a while and I want to see u**

 **Jimin: sorry I'm sorry for bothering u kookie sorry**

It takes a few seconds for Jungkook to register the urgency of those messages. When his brain finally catches on, he drops everything and runs down the stairs.

.

Jimin, quite frankly, is a mess.

He's almost ashamed that he is standing in front of his best friend's house, trying his best to stifle the sobs that are just escaping involuntarily from his mouth because he can't even _pretend_ that the marks left by the belt on his skin don't hurt. To an outsider, he probably seems fucking crazy, crying to himself on the porch of someone else's house, wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of a hot summer day. Furiously texting Jungkook, knowing that he's being a bother because Jungkook is packing for his trip and they had planned to meet up before he leaves anyway, just at a later time.

But he can't wait another two hours for the designated time. Can't stay quiet about this any longer. He just wants someone to cry to and someone to comfort him. He wants his best friend.

When Jungkook finally opens the door, Jimin almost bolts. No one should have to look at him when he's in this condition, especially not Jungkook, even if he already has a vague idea about Jimin's family situation.

It's too late to run though, too late to regret his decision, because Jungkook is already standing in front of him, looking a little tired still in his pajamas, and Jimin thinks that he doesn't deserve to be in the presence of an angel. He notices the change in Jungkook's eyes when he takes in Jimin's broken image and a voice in Jimin's head tells him that his friend's worry and concern is wasted on someone as _pathetic_ as him.

The voice sounds a little too much like his father's.

There's a reason why Jimin is shorter than Jungkook, he understands now: it's because he isn't allowed to stand eye-to-eye with someone in a completely different league than him.

"Jimin?" Jungkook's voice is his salvation. "What's wrong? What happened?" And he sounds so kind, so caring and gentle, so unlike what his parents sound like. _Genuine._ Talking to him as if he isn't completely worthless.

And maybe he isn't. At least, that's what he's able to believe when he's with Jungkook.

"I—" He starts, chocking up before he can complete the sentence. Doesn't really know what to say in the first place. How much can he tell the younger boy? What can he reveal without ruining his parent's fucking _image_?

Eventually just chooses to stay silent because it's _safer_ that way.

"Okay, alright," Jimin can tell that Jungkook is trying to stay calm, and that's all he can really ask of him. He's grateful. "It's okay; you don't have to say anything. Just, um, come in." They walk inside the house and Jungkook leads him upstairs to his bedroom, expression growing more concerned when Jimin winces because every single one of his muscles is sore as he bends to sit on the bed.

This small place is so familiar to Jimin, maybe even more so than his own home, and there's just _something_ about being with his best friend that makes him feel a lot better than he felt a few minutes ago, despite the throbbing of his arms and legs. There are clothes scattered all over the floor— _of course_ Jungkook is only starting to pack mere hours before departing—and normally, he would offer to help, but he can't even bring himself to lift up his arm right now.

Basically, the room is a mess. Jimin is also a mess.

He doesn't think he's ever identified so much with the state of a room before.

"Hey," Jungkook's voice is soft as he reaches for Jimin's hand and intertwines their fingers together. "We should probably get you washed up, yeah? Wouldn't want those cuts to get infected or anything. Maybe change your clothes, too."

Jimin looks up at him and tries his best to smile now that the tears have mostly subsided. Just the simple action alone is enough to bring an aching sensation to his cheeks. "Yeah," his own voice is hoarse. "Thanks, Kookie."

His best friend picks up a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from his half-packed suitcase before the two of them move to the bathroom down the hall. Jungkook turns on the tap as Jimin strips out of his beaten clothes; tries not to think what Jungkook's action of lending him clothes could mean.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches as the younger uses a cloth to dab at his cuts with tender fingers. It's strange, how Jungkook's touch can feel so different from his father's. It feels like all the bad parts of him, all his flaws that his parents like it pick on so much, are being washed away along with the bacteria in his cuts.

"Did your parents do this?"

Jimin freezes, cursing his friend for being so perceptive, before managing a nod and he's grateful when younger boy doesn't ask any more questions. The cool water stings like hell but it's nothing compared to the slaps, the whippings. Each hit from his father had come with a new wave of insults, stinging in a different way than the physical pain, targeting his heart rather than his skin, leaving scars that take far longer to heal.

They head back to the bedroom after that, Jimin feeling clean, _cleansed_ , with decent clothes on, and doesn't even care that all his scars are exposed now that he's wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Bruises of various shades—pink, purple, black—are scattered all over him body but Jungkook doesn't seem to mind it so he doesn't mind it either.

When his mind has cleared, he realizes just what he's done, how selfish he truly is, and Jimin feels like _shit_ , a burden, undeserving of the younger boy's kindness; because now, not only has he run away from home, but he also made Jungkook stay behind for him.

Jungkook is supposed to be on an airplane to Korea.

Jungkook is currently holding on to Jimin (who is wearing _his_ clothes), suitcase and luggage abandoned, whispering sweet things in his ears like a best friend that he doesn't fucking _deserve_ and just for a second, Jimin forgets all about Taehyung on the other side of the world.

.

 _Daegu, South Korea_

When the plane from Canada lands in the Daegu airport at the designated time, Taehyung and Yoongi don't see Jungkook anywhere.

An hour and a few unanswered text messages later, they finally accept the fact that Jungkook didn't get on the plane, didn't make it to Korea. And they have no idea why.

* * *

 **A/N:** first chapter done wheee it started out so nice and happy lmao what happened

confession time okay so I read a few other bts stories where people described taehyung to have a boxy smile and at first I was like what the fuck kind of description is that but then I watched one of bts' videos and it was the most accurate thing I've ever seen so I kind of stole it and used it in this story haha what oops

in case you were wondering about their ages: taehyung and jimin are 17, yoongi is 19, and jungkook is 16

come talk to me on ask . fm, link on my profile!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** i am not good at this updating thing haha. i'm going to be on vacation for the next two weeks and i thought i should update before leaving. so here we are. thanks for sticking around.

this was inspired by me being dumb and not wearing socks with running shoes. don't be like me. i am not a role model.

also have i mentioned that i don't know where this story is going at all? because that's a thing you should know.

* * *

wanting to connect (even if we're across the world)

Chapter 2

* * *

 _Daegu, South Korea_

Taehyung is in something of a state of denial and betrayal.

He has played enough video games to know that if his excitement from earlier took the form of a health bar, it would be steadily declining from an appealing green colour to a warning orange, and eventually a dull red. In place of his draining energy would be a feeling of something very _wrong_ settling in his heart.

Because wasn't Jungkook supposed to have gotten here an hour ago? Weren't they supposed to already have exchanged hugs and greetings and taken pictures together before walking back to Yoongi's car, luggage in hand?

He glances down at his phone to see that the screen is still painfully blank, a reminder of the distinct lack of messages from Jungkook. His fingers are typing before he even registers the action and he just has to ask, has to _know_.

 **Taehyung: where r u?**

 **Taehyung: I didn't see u get off the plane?**

 **Taehyung: is everything ok? did I go to the wrong airport?**

He knows it's not the wrong airport, though—they had discussed their plans thoroughly beforehand—but he wishes that it was a simple miscommunication problem rather than the other option. The other option being that Jungkook didn't get on the plane at all.

Taehyung bites his lip. He taps his foot on the tiled floor restlessly. Watches other people reunite with friends and relatives, leaving the airport with smiles on their faces.

It isn't fair.

It isn't fucking _fair._

"Hey," Taehyung feels Yoongi's hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, "it's been an hour already. We should go."

The younger boy doesn't take his eyes off the stream of passengers exiting the boarding area, hoping, _hoping_. "Let's wait a few more—"

" _Taehyung,"_ Yoongi's voice is stern but soft, not at all like his usual irritated tone. Taehyung can feel his roommate staring at him, and he knows that he's being unreasonable, he _knows,_ but _maybe_ Jungkook is just late. Maybe his friend is just lost and frantically trying to find his way to them right this moment.

Or maybe Taehyung should stop lying to himself.

"… Yeah, okay." He allows himself to be lifted up by Yoongi, following the older boy out the airport.

Taehyung keeps his eyes glued to the ground, matching Yoongi's footsteps because he has to trail after the older boy or else he'll probably end up wandering somewhere he isn't supposed to be. It's hard to focus on the simple action of walking when he feels like crying, when the sky that seemed to welcome him earlier on in the day has now closed off, drifted out of sight.

He almost crashes into Yoongi's back when his roommate stops abruptly and it takes a while for him to realize that Yoongi is talking to a person who is standing by their car. Manages to clear his head in time to hear one line from the stranger who is looking suspiciously nervous:

"I need to borrow your car."

Taehyung and Yoongi glance at each other.

" _Excuse me?"_

.

 _Daegu, South Korea_

Hoseok is a good person.

Really. He is, he swears.

He just sometimes makes not-so-good decisions.

The latest addition to his list of Things He Probably Should've Thought Twice About Before Doing is going to that stupid mall near the Daegu airport. He doesn't even have a real reason to go in the first place—at least, not by legal means—but his feet are starting to hurt and blister confined in his too-small shoes and it only makes sense that he wants to get a new pair, right?

Hoseok doesn't even need to look down to know that his sneakers looked like shit, torn in multiple places and covered in dirt to the point where he doesn't think any amount of cleaning would bring it back to its original state. These shoes have been through a lot within six months—hell, _he's_ been through a lot—but if it had only been a matter of cleanliness, he wouldn't have bothered to risk what he is about to do now.

But they're too small for him now too and it's getting painful for him to just walk down the street and that's a problem. His toes are squeezed together, pressed up against the very edges of the fabric, which doesn't make any fucking sense because how can his feet be growing so much when he's barely had anything to eat these past months?

How is this seriously an issue right now, when he doesn't even know where he's going to sleep every night?

This entire situation is a joke, testing his patience, but whatever. He inhales. A quick stop to Adidas or some other store that sells shoes is all he needs so might as well get it over with.

Adjusting his hat on his head, hair tucked messily underneath the cloth, he walks into the entrance of the mall as casually as he can. Keeps his head down, eyes following the lines of the painted floor in attempt to hide his face from the numerous security cameras he knows are hidden in the building, and reminds himself to _calm down, Hoseok, it's not like this is your first time stealing something_. Tries his best to ignore how much his hands are shaking inside his pockets.

Because, yeah, he has a few coins tucked away somewhere in his jacket, but it's not nearly enough for him to purchase even the cheapest pair of shoes. And, okay, maybe the ethical person would endure the painful shoes and find a job to actually _earn_ money in order to get a new pair legally, but he's _tried_ that already, alright? No one is willing to hire a fucking kid who doesn't even have his high school diploma yet, especially if they look as dirty and smell as bad as he does.

Hoseok is a good person—at least, that's what he likes to think—but anyone who has seen him sometime within the past six months wouldn't hesitate to argue against that statement.

Hoseok is also a thief (he's come to terms with that now, mostly); not by choice but by circumstance. Because, you see, when your only living relative dies suddenly in a car crash, you get about a month of pity from the landlord of your apartment before you're expected to pay rent again. After that, it's a downward spiral; unable to provide the cash, Hoseok gets kicked out of his home and has to resort to other ways of obtaining the necessities he needs to survive. Like stealing.

Just add that to his resume, along with some other law-breaking activities he's done recently, and all that gets him is a quick rejection to any part time job he applies to.

Sometimes he wishes that he could become immune to the sick feeling in his stomach every time he reaches into an unsuspecting person's pocket to snatch their wallet, but he supposes that it just can't be that fucking _easy_. Hoseok is arguably a good person, but maybe—maybe he doesn't _want_ to be.

This is the only life Hoseok knows now.

Passing the days by pickpocketing cash from innocent civilians on the sidewalks. Spending cold nights on park benches with his worn out jacket as his sole provider of warmth. He's lucky to get some fast food with the money he steals but the fear of running out is always in the back of his mind, a ghostly whisper of the _what ifs_. It's hard to believe that he still has things to lose despite already having lost so much.

He had dreams too, once, before his life went to shit. A passion for dancing has been a flame burning inside of him for a long time; he supposes that the fire's burned for too long because now it's nothing more than a dim spark. If he had stayed in school, his _last year_ of high school, he would have graduated a few weeks ago, all ready to move on to university. Not that he can afford the tuition anymore.

This is the only life Hoseok knows now and it could be better, he admits, but he makes do with what he has. And right now, that means walking into a clothing store with his dirtied sneakers and walking back out with a shiny new pair of shoes that actually fits him properly.

In other words: shoplifting.

 _Fucking hell_.

There are all sorts of bad feelings settling in his stomach and they're getting harder and harder to ignore. The self-encouraging words he's chanting like a mantra in his head are starting to sound more pathetic and desperate the closer he gets to the store, but the throbbing of his feet and the thought of finally being able to walk without looking like he has a bad limp prevents him from giving up this opportunity.

A female employee greets him as he makes it past the entrance, making a comment about their current sales, pointing out that all items with a red tag on them have discounts. Hoseok simply nods, tilts his head down at her, and tries not to _scream_ because he's fucking poor, damn it, practically broke and no discount will make anything affordable to him.

He makes his way to the back where the shoes are displayed and it feels like the whole world is watching his every action. Pretending to browse through the selection, he slides out a box of running shoes from a familiar brand that he knows is durable and sits on the bench to try on the size, making sure to face the wall so that no one can walk up in front of him uninvited.

Removing his current pair of shoes is like finally being dismissed from detention—freedom. His feet can finally _breathe_ again and he wiggles his toes around, relieving them from their confinement. The blisters aren't too severe either; they'll heal in time, as long as he doesn't continue scraping them against the harsh fabric.

He slips his feet into the new sneakers and it's _perfect;_ sighs in relief at how much room there is for him to wiggle his toes around. Moving swiftly, he dusts off the old pair as best as he can and stuffs it into the shoebox and places it back on the shelf.

No one will notice that he swapped the shoes—at least, that's what he hopes. But he doesn't plan on sticking around to find out and get caught when he's _almost out_ , so he turns around to walk away as quickly as he can—

"Excuse me."

Hoseok freezes at the voice that calls out from behind him, blood running cold. Inhales deeply and spins around to see a bearded, middle-aged man staring at him intensely, brown eyes piercing into his own and there's no way, right? This stranger can't possibly know about his shoplifting, _right_?

The teen attempts a smile, doing his best to ignore the blood rushing to his ears. Wants nothing more than to just continue walking as if he didn't hear him, but it's much too late for that. "Um, y-yes?" He stutters, voice wavering and _fuck_ , he needs to act _casual_.

"You _are_ planning to pay far that pair of shoes, aren't you?" The man is serious, frowning, everything about him says that he has zero tolerance for whatever bullshit excuse is going to come out of Hoseok's mouth. There's something poking out from his chest pocket, glistening at certain angles under the lights on the ceiling and—

Oh.

 _Oh shit._

It's a police badge. Golden-rimmed with the town's symbol embedded into the center and a name that's partially hidden near the bottom, the piece of metal looks _very_ real. Hoseok's eyes widen and his gaze immediately darts around, trying to think of escape routes.

 _Fuck._

He's so fucked.

He definitely did _not_ prepare to encounter a policeman of all people on the one day he planned to commit a crime. It's seriously unfair how the police look like ordinary people when they're off duty, he groans.

The man—the fucking _policeman_ —is still watching him closely, waiting for a reply and Hoseok knows that he's doomed no matter what he says. What if the man is _armed_ , oh god, what if he _shoots_ him? There aren't any visible weapons but there could be a gun underneath the man's clothes, for all he knows.

His only chance of escaping is through a zigzagged path to the entrance of the store and he just bolts, turning on his heels and fucking sprints as fast as his new running shoes will take him.

Hoseok has continuously made some not-so-good decisions in his life, but this—this is certainly not one of his proudest moments.

Shoplifting is one thing; running away guiltily from the police is about as dumb as it can get. And yet, strangely, he isn't too worried.

The adrenaline in his system fuels him on, new shoes making his feet feel lighter than they've ever been in the past six months, and he's able to get a head start before the policeman realizes that he's fleeing. Sprinting past a few confused customers, he makes it out of the mall and turns in a random direction once he's down the street. Almost wants to laugh because how can he have such bad luck and _what are the chances_?

Ahead of him is the Daegu airport and he reaches the car closest to him in the parking lot, immediately grabbing at the door handle. He's out of breath, the panic of not wanting to be brought back to the police station finally settling in; just as he's about to smash the window in an act of desperation, two figures approach him. Hoseok freezes on the spot.

When one of them asks what he's doing in front of his car, Hoseok tries his best to explain his situation. It doesn't come out nearly as eloquently as he'd hoped.

"I need to borrow your car."

And this is how Hoseok finds himself anxiously sitting in the backseat of someone else's vehicle, shrinking beneath the (understandably) suspicious looks he gets from the two people who agreed to give him a ride under the pressure of incoming police sirens.

Hoseok has had better days. But hey, at least he's got a new pair of sneakers.

.

 _Daegu, South Korea_

Between trying to comfort Taehyung about Jungkook's sudden lack of appearance (and trying to control his own anger because his roommate had been excited about this meeting for _weeks_ and who does this Canadian brat think he is, not bothering to even send a text to inform them about his absence?) and catching someone in the middle of the act of _breaking into his car_ , Yoongi guesses that he's probably aged ten years from just this day alone.

He stands in front of the hooded boy, who has his arm outstretched to reach for the handle bar, just taking a few minutes for his brain to register everything that's happening.

"Did you need something?" Yoongi asks without even bothering to hide his hostility, but in hindsight, it's a much better alternative to the _what the fuck do you think you're doing_ that was on the tip of his tongue.

The stranger in front of him squirms on the spot, seemingly to debate about whether or not he should lie and make a break for it, but a quick glance behind him gets him talking. "Um, I need to borrow your car."

The older boy looks over at Taehyung just to make sure that he isn't the only one who heard that because is this guy really that _shameless_? Borrow seems like a really generous way to put it.

"Excuse me?"

Yoongi narrows his eyes and the opposing boy shrinks under the harsh gaze. "Listen, I—" and then he freezes, Yoongi watching as every one of his muscles stills, expression changing from fear to desperateness within seconds. The parking lot is quiet but off to the distance, if he focuses hard enough—

"Are those _police sirens_?" Yoongi's eyes widen in disbelief because is this even _real life_ right now? He's pretty good at figuring out the big picture and he realizes that this is a whole lot worse than a simple car sabotage. "Don't tell me they're after _you_."

His only reply is a growing silence and the sound of the sirens getting louder. "Oh, fuck, Jesus Christ." He reaches into his pocket for the keys and unlocks the car, motioning for the others to get in. Taehyung quickly takes the passenger seat and when the hooded boy only stands, dumbstruck, Yoongi flings open the door and shoves him in roughly before getting behind the wheel.

"W-wait, me too?" The boy asks and Yoongi just growls as he starts the engine and backs out of the parking spot. Doesn't have the time to answer stupid questions at the moment because this day has been bad enough and he doesn't need to add an interrogation with the police to the list of things he regrets just because of one trip to the airport.

"Buckle up your seatbelt," he snaps at both Taehyung, who has a habit of forgetting about every safety measure that's ever been taught to him, and to the other boy, who was trying to steal his car, because god knows his anger toward him is fucking justified.

Yoongi thinks he's going soft.

Should've just left the poor kid to deal with his own issues back at the airport.

Just as he's turning on to the main road, the police car rushes past them in a blur of red and blue and Yoongi finally allows himself to take a deep breath as he drives in the opposite direction. That was one heart attack he could've done without.

He twists around to face his guest in the backseat at a red light. "So," he starts, and he's about to ask what illegal act this kid could've possibly done in his state to have the cops chasing him, but then realizes that he doesn't actually _care_ and he just wants to get home as quickly as he can, "where do I drop you off?"

"Uh, what?"

Yoongi tries very hard to resist the urge to sigh. "Where do you live? How do I get to your house?"

The boy pulls down his hat, staying silent for so long that the traffic light switches to green and Yoongi has to turn back around because as much as he'd like to wait until he got an answer out of this boy, he can't just remain unmoving in the middle of the fucking street.

He's driving slowly. Too slowly if the cars honking behind him is any indication, but he doesn't have a destination until the stubborn kid he was generous enough to help escape from the police _answers his fucking question_.

Beside him, Taehyung has completely zoned out, probably hasn't even realized that they've been gone past at least five intersections already and Yoongi thinks he might end up in the next town at this rate. It doesn't take much for Yoongi to guess what his roommate is thinking about—it's the same thing he's been thinking about for the last few weeks—namingly, Jungkook. That's _another_ problem they'll have to deal with.

But later. Maybe when Yoongi's nerves have calmed and when he feels like his head won't _explode_.

He pulls into a small neighbourhood and parks the car along the side of the street because he's just about had enough. Unbuckling his seatbelt, the older boy swings around to give the ever-silent stranger his most intimidating look. "Alright, listen, kid—" he pauses, "can I get your name?"

This seems to ease the boy out of his muteness and he looks up, just a little, not enough to meet Yoongi's eyes but it's improvement. "Jung Hoseok."

"Hoseok," Yoongi continues without missing a beat because asking for the boy's name was just to be polite—it's not a _name_ he wants, "you were going to steal my car, you know that? You had to at least be aware of what you were doing. And I'd say that getting caught by me in the act is about the luckiest thing that's ever happened in your life because I got you out of the chaos with the police—and I'm not asking you to tell me about whatever illegal activity you were doing since I really don't give a _shit._ "

He takes a moment to breathe and this feels good. This feels _good_. "So, Jung Hoseok, you can either give me a fucking address to your house or wherever you want to be dropped off _or_ you will get out right here because my roommate and I need to get back to our own home and then we can all forget this incident for good."

 _That's_ what Yoongi wants: to just go home, inhale down ten cups of coffee, and then figure out this whole Jungkook mess. Taehyung's face is blank and he doesn't think that the younger boy will make it at this rate because since when is Taehyung's face ever _not_ in an exaggerated expression of some sort?

"Well?" He asks Hoseok again, just about ready to throw the boy out the car if he stilldoesn't get a reply.

To his surprise, Hoseok is looking up at him this time and _smiling_. "I, um—I don't have a home."

Yoongi blinks and _no_.

Fuck _no_.

He regrets what he's about to do before he even does it.

.

 _British Columbia, Canada_

Jimin has good and bad days.

The goods days are when his parents get held up at work, staying overtime to finish last-minute assignments so that he can enjoy his solitude home alone longer. The good days are when his mother comes back earlier than his father because his mother is tolerable and goes on to do her own thing while Jimin remains in his bedroom. The good days are when he can admit that he prefers his mother neglecting him rather than his father paying too much attention, watching too closely, whipping him with a belt for every little mistake he makes.

Today has not been a good day.

As Jimin watches Jungkook unpack his suitcase full of clothes from the bed, he hates himself more than he ever has after his father goes on a tangent about all his flaws. There's something undeniably sad in the way the younger boy gingerly picks up a T-shirt and folds it carefully before stuffing it back in his dresser. With every item that Jungkook puts back in his drawers, the guilt in Jimin's heart grows heavier, tendrils of regret and shame wrapping itself around him until the only coherent thought left in his brain is, _it's my fault._

It hasn't been a good day, but now that the events with his parents are over, Jimin admits that it isn't exactly the _worst_ day either.

He had no reason to appear in front of his best friend's door, cheeks stained with tears, seeking comfort in the one person with whom he feels safe, the one person who shouldn't have to deal with the aftermaths of Jimin's own parental issues.

If he wasn't so easily affected by harsh words, if he had gritted his teeth and endured the beatings, if only he wasn't so fucking _selfish_ —

—Jungkook would have made it to Korea by now.

Jimin balls his hands into fists underneath the warm blanket Jungkook had draped over him and thinks, not for the first time, that he doesn't _deserve_ a friend like Jungkook; fights back tears because Jungkook should be the one crying right now, not him.

He notices that the younger boy has stopped folding clothes long enough to pick up a camera. Jungkook holds up the device and levels it to Jimin's height. "You know," he starts, fidgeting with the buttons, "I had fully charged this last night but now it's going to be wasted so even your face will have to do. Say something to the camera, hyung."

It's almost sunset and the remaining glow of the sun's rays hits Jungkook at all the right angles, softening his features and outlining his frame in a way that makes Jimin wants to reach out and turn the camera around so it's focused on Jungkook. Instead, he leans back and stares straight into the lens. Pretends for a second that he didn't completely mess up all of his friend's summer plans. "Fuck you for being such a good friend, Kookie."

Jungkook laughs at that, turning off the electronic and coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He feels Jungkook shift around so that they're closer together, two bodies under one blanket. Jungkook wraps an arm around Jimin's body and pulls him in.

Jimin closes his eyes and just breathes, inhaling in the scent that is _Jungkook_.

They stay like that for a while, comfortable silence settling in around them and for once, the older boy doesn't feel inexplicably _lonely_. "It'll be okay, Jiminie," he hears Jungkook murmur, warm breath brushing against his cheek.

Jimin believes him.

.

 _British Columbia, Canada_

Jungkook glances down at Jimin, sees the bruises on his friend's skin that are just beginning to heal, scabs from older wounds still visible on the boy's damaged flesh. Wishes he could take away his friend's pain, but the only thing he can provide is a temporary shelter and a shoulder to lean on and it's just not _enough_.

"Thank you for being a good friend, Kookie, I mean it," Jimin tells him and Jungkook knows. He knows the older boy means it even without having to hear the actual words, but as he strokes his fingers through Jimin's hair, he can't help but wonder just how good of a friend he really is if he can't actually _do_ anything for Jimin.

If he abandoned Taehyung without a word.

.

 **Jungkook: hey, hyung, something came up and I wasn't able to make it to the airport**

 **Jungkook: I'll tell u the details later, ok?**

 **Jungkook: I'm sorry, tae, I'm really sorry**

* * *

 **A/N:** i messed up i messed up ahhh

i think i destroyed hoseok's personality. halfway through writing his part, i realized that it didn't sound like him anymore and i didn't know how to fix it so i just kept going with it and i'm sorry ok bye /runs away because i have brought shame to my family

i'd love to hear your feedback! i'm also on ask . fm with the same username. yell at me about how bad my characterization is. and if you have any suggestion for what could happen after this it'd be greatly appreciated because i personally have no idea.


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